


An Icy Heart

by Räv (Belial_Aphroditus)



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure
Genre: Gen, Horror, an f bomb here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belial_Aphroditus/pseuds/R%C3%A4v
Summary: A rash of disappearances catches Myotismon's attention and when he finds a small village that shouldn't exist he chooses to get to the bottom of this mystery. Even if his Servants want to go home.





	An Icy Heart

Autumn was an old and dying man. His last breaths pushed through the trees. Their bare branches clawed out in all directions trying to hide the ground. No longer in their glory days of spring and summer it was all in vain. The dirt path cutting though the woods was in plain view from above.

Devidramon ducked as it pulled a carriage down that dirt road. Still braches scraped at and broken by Devidramon’s massive, leather clad body. Behind Devidramon, two Bakemon shuddered in their carriage seat. The two ghost Digimon weren’t sure what frightened them more; whatever was in the woods or who was in the carriage.

 “Do you think what the guys said was true?” One Bakemon whispered to the other.

“Keep quiet or he’ll hear you.” The other hissed.

“But if they’re right. If this hunting trip isn’t real—” The first started before being cut off.

“Then we’re fucked.” The other hissed. “And if not, you’re giving him an idea _and an excuse_.”

The two sat in silence for sometime after that. Both waited and wondered how this trip would end.

The wind scrapped dry rotting leaves across the ground. Their soft scratching kept drawing the attention of the Bakemon.

There had been legends about this part of the woods for some time. Even long before the dirt path was worn into the ground, Digimon whispered about these woods. Though back then only five or six digimon a year would vanish. Skeptical minds would blame those disappearances on the mundane. But two months ago their master, Myotismon, ordered the path widened. He didn’t think much of the rumors until all the workers quit. Not that anyone, save Myotismon, blamed them. When fifteen of your co-workers vanish in the woods why not just quit.

Myotismon himself was the prime suspect as far as the castle servants were concerned. Many of the others thought that his trip was cover. The only thing for him to hunt was his servants. After seeing his public cruelty over years, they all shuttered to think what he did away from others.

“Do-do you think he’s going to give us a head start?” The frightened Bakemon asked.

_“Shut. Up.”_

Thunder rumbled from the North. Devidramon’s four red eyes looked up at the overcast sky. It began to speed up before a sharp stop.

The faster rocking did not stir Myotismon who slept in his seat. He left the blinds up. Overcast days were a treat for him. Still being a nocturnal creature, he often ended up dosing off by the window or in his carriage. This foolish confidence could have become a deadly folly for many reasons. Lucky for him, today he would only get a skinned knee and a bruised ego.

Stunned at his awakening from the throw forward, it took a moment for his usual behavior to kick in. When it did he kicked open the door. “Why have we stopped?” Myotismon bellowed.

One of the Bakemon pointed ahead. The storms to the North had moved slowly. Dumping enough water they turned the quiet creek into a raging river of water, mud and branches. The bridge was likely far down stream.

 “Why didn’t you fly over it?” Myotismon raged his attention now focused on Devidramon.

This time it was Devidramon’s stomach that growled its reply.

“We didn't get to eat before we left, sir,” the frightened Bakemon said.

“So what are we suppose to do for food?” Myotismon asked. He attempted to pinch the bridge of his nose before remembering he wore a metal mask. “I doubt we have enough to feed a Devidramon.”

Myotismon looked for something for him to eat. But all he saw was bare trees. For a second he thought he saw a glint of light in the woods but a breeze blew his bangs in front of his face. Brushing his hair out of the way he tried to spot the glint again. Whatever it was, if there was anything, was gone now.

“Yakitori,” Devidramon said, sniffing the air.

“I don’t have any.” Myotismon said looking to the Bakemon.

They both shrugged.

“Ya-ki-to-ri.” Devidramon said and began following its nose taking the carriage with it.

“Wait,” the others shouted and ran after Devidramon.

Myotismon was able to hover fast enough to catch the open door. The Bakemon weren’t as lucky and had to cling to the back of the carriage.

Crashing through the brush Devidramon found another old trail hidden in the trees. Running over a fallen branch, the carriage bucked sending Myotismon swinging as he clung to the door. Both Bakemon fell off as Myotismon watched. Turning back he inhaled to shout at Devidramon but only yelped as a branch hit the door. He fell back and the door shut trapping him in the runaway carriage. Tossed about, Myotismon tried to find something to hold on to.

Tree limbs scratched and scrapped at Devidramon and the carriage. It was as if they were desperately trying to stop them. They were snapped off as the hungry digimon pushed though, their concerns ignored. Soon the branches that wove together gave up and Devidramon and the carriage tore into a clearing.

Once more, the carriage came to an abrupt stop this time skinning Myotismon’s other knee. He threw open the door then was pulled from his anger by the sound of gasps. Devidramon was frozen in place waiting for Myotismon’s next move. Its mouth was open, about to bite down on the yakatori still being held by a stunned Lilimon. Around them were about thirty Digimon of varied stages and types. Stands advertising food and games lined up in front of them. Behind the stands was a small village.

Devidramon had sniffed out a small village and a fair.

_Yet_ , Myotismon thought, _there shouldn’t be anyone here_.  

Even stranger was the flora. Unlike on the path they were just on this field still had green grass and the trees still bore yellow, red and orange leaves. This fiery display would have been visible though the trees. But he was certain he had not seen anything. It was as if he stepped into the height of autumn.

Myotismon cleared his throat and straightened up. “Good afternoon.”

A Swanmon approached and spread its wings. “Welcome my brother. Hungry? We will feed you? Tired? There’s always a bed here.” He said cutting the tension like a knife though concrete.

Myotismon didn’t bother to respond right away. He scanned the crowd around him. They were shocked but not afraid, at least not as much as they should be.

They didn’t know who he was.

“We could use both. I will happily reimburse you.” Myotismon said.

“No need! No need!” the Swanmon honked. “There is noooo need here. We are all family here. And you don’t charge family stay.”

Myotismon’s cold glare didn’t warm. “That’s fine then.”

“Excellent we can set your friend up in a barn just outside of town and we will give you the best room in our inn.”

“I’ll stay in the barn as well.”

“What! Well, you see, the barn is…” Swanmon said losing a few feathers as he jumped. “That’s—ah hah ha—fine but the barn’s not the best of shape. The bottom’s nice. Good for your friend, but there’s no bed.” Swanmon yammered on as Myotismon walked past him.

“I don’t need a bed and I’d rather not be separated from my attendants.”

“Attendants?” Swanmon asked with heavy emphasis on the ‘s.’

Myotismon looked back to the woods were the Bakemon had finally caught up. The leaves and twigs that dusted them fell as they straightened to attention.

“Ah, I see.” Swanmon said and pointed with his wing. “If you would, please follow me.” Swanmon waddled away to a path on the other side of the field, away from the village.

The leaves above them remained ablaze with warm colour until they turned a corner. Then the woods returned to an ashy sober appearance.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed our peculiarity. The spells of the area are unique. Turn a corner and its summer, turn another and its spring, turn again and-well you get it.” Swanmon said calling back to them.

“What happens if you leave the path?” Myotismon asked over the groan of the carriage. An axel and maybe some other important parts were breaking. _Lovely_ , he thought.

Swanmon turned and walked backwards as he said, “Y’all will just keep walking into the trees. Once you lose sight of the trail that is. These woods would just go on and on. Until you walk back to the trail that is.

Myotismon nodded and Swanmon turned back around.

It was a good eight minute walk to the barn. The trees were coming closer to reclaiming the barn. In a few more years the wood barn would be reunited with the woods. What was left of the clearing left was weeds and straw. Patches of lingering foxtail reached up to the top of his shins. Swanmon nattered about the hole in the roof, how it was drafty and so on. He kept insisting on just Devidramon staying here.

Myotismon spotted a puff of smoke coming from the back of the barn. He walked it and saw Magna Kidmon propped up against the barn. That wasn’t someone he was expecting to see here.

“You know, if we’re listening to Swanmon, leaning on that wall can be dangerous.” Myotismon said.

“If the wall falls there’s plenty of soft hay to land on.” Magna Kidmon said and returned to his cigarette.

Myotismon scoffed. “Ah, but then your cigarette will set the hay on fire. Then the roof will collapse on you and a sink hole will open up. And as you fall to your death you’ll think ‘oh I should have stayed at the obvious trap inn.’”

At this point Magna Kidmon holding back laughter made him shake too much to smoke. He had taken the cigarette from his lips and was using his other hand to hide a smile. “He is really bad at this.” He said, his voice muffled by his hand.

The two of them chuckled until Myotismon changed the subject. “You know the last time I ran into your brother, he was still looking for you.”

Magna Kidmon stiffened at the mention of his brother. “He’ll live.”

Myotismon Just nodded. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m the sheriff,” Magna Kidmon replied.

“Out-law to sheriff,” Myotismon said, “that’s some career jump.”

“It’s not as different as you think.”

Myotismon hummed his response.

Magna Kidmon finished his smoke and flicked the cigarette butt by his feet before speaking again. “Listen, you seem like a good guy. You should forget this place. Just leave, but before you go stop by the bar for a drink. I’m there most nights. It’s next to the Obvious Trap Inn.” Finished conversing he walked away.

Myotismon scold as Swanmon honked a surprised “Sheriff!” The thick headed bird had been trying to convince the Bakemon to stay at the inn. Myotismon glared at the two leaving townspeople. “Just forget this place?” Myotismon said and turned his glare to the still lit cigarette butt. “Like hell I am.” He growled and stamped out the cigarette butt.


End file.
